nger,
when you have promised before God to be his wife, then and not till then
will I give up hope. And that will be never. It is your pride, dear,
your pride that ever fights against your happiness and mine; but I shall
beat it down and humble it, Joan, and win you in the end. Your own true,
sweet self."

"I don't think I have any pride left," she said. "I was prouder when I
was poor than I am now. My pride was then all I had; it kept me above
the sordid life about me. I cultivated it, I was glad of it, but since
then--Oh, Hugh, I am not proud any more, only very humble, and very
unhappy."

And because she was still promised to another man, he could not, as he
would, hold out his arms to her and take her to his breast and comfort
her. Instead, he took her hand and held it tightly for a time, then
lifted it to his lips and went, leaving her; yet went with a full hope
for the future in his heart, for he had wrung from her the confession
that she loved him.

In the hall a girl, sitting there waiting patiently, looked at him with
great dark eyes, yet he never saw her. A servant let him out, and then
the servant came back to her. "Tell Miss Meredyth that I am here waiting
to see her," Ellice said.

And as the man went away she wondered what had brought Hugh Alston here
to-day, why he should be here so long with Joan when she could so
distinctly remember Joan's lack of recognition of him in the village.
She could also remember the sight of them that night, their dark shapes
against the yellow glow of the lamplight in Mrs. Bonner's cottage.

How would she find Joan? she wondered. Softened, perhaps even confused,
some of her coldness shaken, some of her self-possession gone? But no,
Joan held out a hand in greeting to her.

"I did not know that you were here, Miss Brand," she said. "Have you not
seen Mrs. Everard?"

"I have seen her," Ellice said, "but I didn't come here to-day to see
her. I came to see you."

"To see me?" Joan smiled--a conventional smile. "You will sit down,
won't you? Is it anything that I can do? It is not, I hope, that Mr.
Everard is ill?"

"And--and if he were," the girl cried, "would you care?"

Joan started, her face grew colder.

"I do not understand."

"Yes, you--you do. Why are you marrying him? Why are you taking him from
me when--"

"Taking him from--you?" Joan's voice was like ice water on flames of
fire. Ellice was silent.

"Miss Meredyth, I came here to-day to see you, to sp